“I see we had the same idea,” Lynne says rather neutrally.

Bartin’s throat convulses.

“Your HeatWaves suck,” Myrha says.

“It’s not the weapons, it’s the enemy,” Lynne says, “it’s as if they are missing pain receptors. They do not register pain, nor are they stopped by severe physical trauma.”

“Yeah, they’re very single minded,” Myrha says, “like…they’re in a haze.”

She gives Bartin a suspicious glance, “They kind of remind me of Werna, actually.”

A pained whimper leaves Bartin’s throat and Lynne gives her a startled glance.

“Their eyes,” Myrha explains, “kind of hazy and glazed over like Werna’s.”

Wetness dots the corners of Bartin’s eyes, and glints in the limited pale light, “She was always…she couldn’t stop.”

“What?” Lynne asks, puzzled.

“I said she was on drugs, didn’t I?”

Myrha doesn’t feel like it’s an appropriate time to boast, but she supposes she’ll never stop feeling awesome when she’s one-upped her intelligent companion.

“Ah,” and she sees the exact moment Lynne puts it all together, “she was addicted to the hallucinogenic properties of the tree bark.”

Bartin nods miserably, “Yes, my poor Werna. She hasn’t had a clear head in months.”

He sniffles pathetically.

“Then,” Lynne turns towards Myrha, “you believe the trance-like state of the other patrons has something to do with the tree bark?”

“It’s like they got dosed with enormous, or maybe just very potent, quantities of it.”

“Is there a known antidote?” Lynne addresses Bartin.

“I don’t know,” he wails, “nothing I’ve tried seemed to counteract it. It always had a hold on her mind; and the days she seemed sober, she’d do anything to get more.”

“Wasn’t this stuff being used for experiments?” Myrha asks.

“Yes,” Bartin sighs, “but I’ve told you everything I know about it.”

“Did Werna ever become violent?” Lynne asks.

“Sometimes. She’s been using it more lately, and I’ve had to restrain her.” His lip quivers and he sobs, “It’s all my fault!”

“Quiet,” Myrha shushes his wailing.

“Why?” Lynne asks, avidly interested.

His hands shake around his grip on the bat, “I never should have asked her to come here with me. She’s not like me; she doesn’t like isolation. The drugs were her escape!”

Myrha can admit that’s pretty understandable. If she was trapped on a planet with only Bartin for company, she’d get a little stir-crazy too.

“Where is Werna now?” Lynne asks carefully and oh shit Myrha has a bad feeling about this.

“She’s in the crew quarters,” Bartin says, “I’ve tied her up. But I’m not abandoning her.”

“She’s going to turn violent and eat your face!” Myrha hisses.

“We do not know if Werna is as violent as the others,” Lynne says, “they seem to have been…infected differently.”

“And we’re taking a chance on that?”

Lynne places a hand over Myrha’s mouth. Myrha looks at her, aghast.

Lynne says quietly, “The sounds of fighting have stopped.”

She doesn’t need Lynne to tell her that that’s probably a very bad thing. A weird shiver snakes down her spine.

“We need to move on before they come looking for us,” Bartin says.

“Move where?” Myrha asks.

Bartin starts to a look little shifty, his sweat gleaming profusely; Myrha wonders if this means more bad news.

“The shuttle,” he whispers hoarsely, “Turobeck’s.”

“What?” Myrha whispers back.

“He crashed here, I know it,” he continues, breathing laboriously, “We just have to find it. We can get off this planet, like I should have done months ago.”

Lynne and Myrha share a glance.

“He’s crazy,” Myrha mouths at Lynne.

“You believe Turobeck landed here and left a serviceable shuttle behind?” Lynne asks.

Bartin nods frantically, “Yes, yes, I just need help finding it. You see, all I ever needed was a way to get a shuttle, or enough money, to get off this forsaken planet and get Werna help. Turobeck with his shuttle, his poetry, he could give me freedom.”

Myrha wants to shake him; it’s as if he’s fallen under a hallucination as well.

“That’s why you ran the contest and lied about Lieval?” Myrha asks, “You wanted to drag someone into your search for a fabled shuttle?”

“You’ll help me find the shuttle,” Bartin decides, “all of you will.”

His electric bat hums as it comes to life.

“You invented the fantasy that Turobeck left a shuttle here because you needed some way to believe there was a way out of your situation!” Myrha insists.

“It’s the truth,” he says stubbornly, “Turobeck was here on Lieval. I have proof!”

“Regardless,” Lynne cuts in, “we need to leave the area.”

“There’s a cave farther down on the west side of the beach, we can hide out there for some time,” Bartin nods decisively.

Myrha is not going to be stuck in a cave with a crazy person and his equally crazy and probably-hungry-for-human-flesh wife. She shares a glance with Lynne and tries to convey all of this with a single stare.

“Bartin,” Lynne says, “I am sorry.”

With one swift move she knocks him out and Bartin crumbles to the floor. Myrha grabs the bat from his slack grip, and rifles through his pockets for anything else that might be of use. The necklace he wears is tangled on the ground, and on it dangles a little piece of metal. She doesn’t know what it is, but it’s the only thing on his person, so Myrha grabs it and follows Lynne out the door.

Silence reigns outside, except for the slow shuffle of feet against sand.

“They’re coming,” Myrha whispers.

She thinks she hears the click of hungry teeth.

“Run,” Lynne says.

They leave Bartin and Werna to their fate.